Solid
by Sqishy
Summary: He thought it would be okay. The beatings were his fault, the loneliness was his fault, the feelings were his fault. He told people he was fine, they all believed him, but he wasn't. He was hurt and scared, but that was okay. He would be okay. He was fine.
1. I'm Okay

**Author's Note:** So yeah, second story. This one will be a bit more emotionally raw than my first one. I got tired of reading abuse and suicide stories that are really off on a lot of things or just all the same. Roxas is abused and is this scared, defenseless boy who doesn't do anything about it! No. I am not going to make him like that. And I think that suicidal scenes should have some depth and explanation, not just physical description but also description as to what the character is feeling. So, enjoy, I think.

And you should try listening to Taylor Swift's Safe and Sound while reading this. I usually don't like, but I really like that song of hers and it goes along with this.

**Disclaimer:** Kingdom Hearts to Square Enix and Disney.

* * *

_I'm sorry… isn't that what you usually start a suicide note with? The first thought people are going to think is that I'm selfish. I think that I'm selfish. I don't think I am for making this decision. I spent a very long time thinking about this, thinking everything out, thinking about the pain I would cause, but… doing this won't cause anyone pain. Not even myself. _

_People will call me weak for giving up. I'm not weak. I am just going to a better place. Someone can only last so long in so much pain until it becomes too much. I'm not harming anything, just going somewhere else for a while. Nobody will miss me._

_Did anyone enjoy me? Did my presence ever make someone happy? Has anyone ever liked me? Did anyone ever… want me?_

_To anyone who ever cared about me: I hate you. I hate you so much, even if I didn't even know you. If you cared about me I wouldn't be in this situation. If someone cared about me, they would have stopped me and I wouldn't be dead. If you cared about me, you would have saved me. I'm tired of waiting for someone to care about me. _

_It's my fault for believing people could care about each other. Humans don't have the capacity to care for each other. They only care about you if you can give them something. I remember when I thought that my dad cared about me. It was funny, he only acted like he cared about me. He only wanted me for chores and doing the things that he is too lazy to. My mom might have been the only person who even had the ability to care, I don't really know anymore. She does work hard to keep a roof over my head, so, that means she cared at one point. I'm sure the beatings she gives me are my fault._

_Lazy, stupid, and selfish is what you call someone like me. I forgot to do her laundry—how selfish of me. She works hard for us and I forget to contribute these little things to her. I could help her, but I forget sometimes because I'm selfish and lazy and stupid and careless and reckless and mean—_

_That's why all of this is a favor to everyone. I burden everyone around me because of how terrible I am. I walk around and start fights, people must hate me. I always run everyone away with my problems and all of my complaining. I talk about myself too much. That's how I learned that nobody cares about you. You tell them that you're not okay—and they don't even try to help you. They don't try and comfort you. They tell you to suck it up. They call you selfish because you don't care about their problems and chose to talk about yours. Your little, tiny problems. Then you start realizing people don't care about you. They hate it when you talk about yourself, they like it when you talk about them. If you don't give them your attention, you're selfish. It's selfish to think people care about how you are._

_I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine—that's the lie I've been telling for years. I'm not fine. I'm not okay. I'm scared and hurt and broken and sad and depressed. Or maybe I'm just a selfish teenager. My problems aren't real—I create them. All the beatings are my fault. All the overthinking is my fault. All the people who have walked away have walked away because of me. I caused all of this. It's all my fault. _

_So, it's okay not to be sad when you find this. I'm so happy, I don't have to hurt anyone anymore. I'm not going to be selfish anymore. I'm not going to hurt anymore. I guess you could say that I am done. I didn't have much going on for me anyways, my grades were terrible. I can't see a happy future for myself. _

_I'm really tired now, it's getting hard to see. The paper is getting too wet. I'll try and finish this quickly._

_Hayner—We were best friends. We used to play with struggle bats in hopes that one day we could be Struggling against the big guys. I had a lot of fun fighting you, when we were friends. Sneaking out to eat ice cream on top of the tower was great, as well as just being around you. You were my favorite at the time, but don't tell anyone, okay? Seifer came along and everything turned to shit. You started pushing me to the side. I became your shoulder to cry on when he did something that made you upset. It got tiring, Hayner. I couldn't just keep caring about you when the favor wasn't returned, but now I don't blame you. You were a great person, so, I'm sorry for ruining our friendship with my problems. You keep entering Struggle tournaments and live out __our__ your life dream, okay?_

_Pence—You were a good friend of mine as well. I really cared about you Pence, but, there was always this feeling you were just kind of there. We weren't connected. I'm sorry I never talked to you more. You were great friends with Hayner and Olette, but never me. You talked to them, but, you never really talked to me. You took them places, you gifted them with presents when you felt like it, you would let them cry on your shoulder… but never me. _

_Olette—I hope that you start going out with Pence. You guys obviously have a crush on each other. You were the obvious mother figure in our group, you know that? You looked after all of us, even though we were just stupid boys. I'm sorry for dragging you into a lot of trouble and—_

_I can't do this right now. Maybe you'll all find out the rest one day, but, I just need some rest. The pain is becoming too much. It hurts to write all of this. The voices are telling me to end it right now—drink water until I drown myself, slit my wrists, swallow all the pills in the cabinet, I just need to go. I've lost the fight, I guess. _

A lonely blond sat in his room and bit his lip, failing to hold back trembling sobs. His heart and head hurt, everything hurt. He knew he was really tired. He wasn't sure if it was from the tears streaming down his cheeks or the things he's had to endure, but he was exhausted.

His name was Roxas. He wasn't always like this, it just kind of started. His family stopped caring about him, his friends stopped caring about him, he stopped caring about himself. He was worthless, stupid, lazy, and selfish; why should he care about himself?

Roxas began wiping furiously at his eyes, hard enough that they were becoming red and the back of his hands were only slicking more tears across his face. He just wanted it all to be over. The blond propped himself up for a moment, taking tentative steps towards his bed. He slowly laid down on it and bit into the edge of his pillow, beginning to cry harshly. His eyes were closed and pressed against his pillow. But he wouldn't allow himself to sleep. He just needed to let it all out for a minute.

The warmth of tear soaked fabric began pressing against his skin. He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't calm down. It took him too much effort just to hoist himself up and grab the note on his desk. He folded the paper carefully and calmly slid it into his pocket. He knew that his parents would find it if he didn't do so and discard it, but, if he put it in his pocket, the people who had to transport his dead body would find it and let the three people it's addressed to read it. They wouldn't miss his last words.

He padded across his carpet, avoiding much off the mess around the room, and stumbled into the bathroom. His dull blue eyes tried hard to avoid the mirror. He couldn't bear to see what a mess he looked. His eyes would be red and glassy, his face would be red and his skin would be clammy. He would look like a mess and failure. That wasn't the last way he wanted to see himself, at least not physically. He'd seen himself like that in his mind too long.

A bottle containing pills was perched on his counter. It was a blue counter, flames of dark grey shooting across the shiny surface. The orange of the pill bottle looked ugly against the counter. Roxas grabbed the pill bottle and slowly uncapped it. There was an array of different pills inside. Roxas had spent a while collecting any type of pills he could. There were big white pills, big clear pills, half white pills, small round pills, just so many. He felt as though he had enough tonight. This would all do.

He poured the pills into his palm, careful not to drop any. It was hard when he couldn't see that well out of his eyes and his hand was trembling so harshly. Roxas stared at them for a while. He began to imagine when it would be like to finally be dead. He imagined it would feel good. You couldn't care after you're dead, you can't. You can't feel pain either. This would feel okay.

He decided to stop thinking. Thinking would hurt him right now. He decided to just… do. So Roxas swallowed those pills. His throat stung from the mass that the bunch had. But he managed to swallow them all. He finally did it. Now all he had to do was wait.

Roxas flicked the switch to his bathroom light off and gently closed his door. His head was spinning, not from the pills, but from the thoughts trying to be thought. He wouldn't allow himself to comprehend them. Not yet. He slowly made his way to his bed and went to lie down. He was so very tired.

And Roxas thought. He crossed his hands over his chest and thought. He thought about his note, he thought about the reasons why he was doing this. He thought of solutions, but solutions were bad, solutions meant regretting this, and Roxas didn't want to regret this.

He started to feel a little light headed. It caused him a head ache. He also started to feel nauseous, so he turned onto his side in hopes to relieve some of the pain pooling in his stomach. His limbs began to tingle. It was all happening so fast once it'd started. Tears started to pour from his eyes faster than before. He felt so many different and unpleasant sensations. He thought this was the painless way out. Overdosing doesn't hurt. You're supposed to fall asleep.

Roxas vomited. He threw up on himself and his bed. Tears mingled with vomit and emotions mingled with tears and pain mingled with emotions and everything hurt. He cried to himself even when everything began fading. He made small noises that accompanied the tears and crying, hoping that this would end quicker.

The blue eyes fell closed, not that it mattered—everything was dark anyways. Roxas felt some happiness in all of it. He felt proud that it was the beginning of the end. He was going to be okay now. Everything and everyone was going to be okay. His death, it would mean the end to the hurt. This is what he wanted. This is what he'd hoped for.

Then it was over. Roxas felt nothing, thought nothing, no pain. He was just… detached. It was over.

* * *

Oh no you bitch you killed Roxas. If you didn't notice, he's a main character. You can't really have a story without a main character. Put two and two together and let's see how this goes.

I don't know if that was emotional for you, but I'm surprised I actually got emotional writing this. I hope I got the overdose right. I've actually overdosed before, all I did was vomit for about two hours straight and then sleep. IT IS NOT PAINLESS. So if you're ever thinking that overdosing is some cozy little trip to la-la land, you're wrong.


	2. Must've Gone Mad

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the long awaited update, but thank you all for the favs, follows, and reviews ;A; School is a bummer I tell you, lectures are the worst… Anyways, here's another mental break down staring Roxas.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, Disney and Square Enix do.

* * *

The same lonely blond woke up that morning. The sickly pale thin skin covering his eyes peeled back, revealing nearly lifeless blue eyes. He was hunched over on his side, lying on his bed. His face was slick with dried tears, vomit, and drool. Roxas had hoped to be dead, never to wake up, but here he was conscious and all.

"Damn it," Roxas cursed. He felt even more dead inside than if his heart had actually stopped beating. He was afraid this would happen. He was so afraid that he would live, and here it was happening. Roxas subconsciously clenched his fists. No matter what amount of sleep he got, he was always exhausted. He wasn't able to rest yet. The ability for everything to just end was still so far from his reach. It seemed almost unattainable.

Lifeless blue eyes drifted to the digital clock on the floor. It was almost time for the school bus to be arriving. Roxas wasn't dead yet, meaning he would need to attend. He was only allowed to be absent if he was vomiting. Technically, he had, but Roxas didn't feel any more pain aside from a headache. He wasn't thinking rationally either. He just wanted to cover up this suicide attempt as quickly as possible so his parents wouldn't notice.

Bony fingers grabbed at the sheets of the bed. Roxas lifted himself up and then pulled his sheets along with them. He would wash them later, once his parents were both sleeping. The laundry room was in the basement, the soundproof basement to be specific. Not that his parents would care if he did his chores (which consisted of laundry, dishes—just cleaning in general.) The blond shoved the mess of suicidal evidence under his bed and threw the blanket that was bunched up next to his bookshelf over the naked mattress.

He avoided the mess around his room and went into the bathroom. His mouth tasted weird, like the taste the air of a decaying animal could put in your mouth. He was quick to brush his teeth, still avoiding the mirror just as he had yesterday. His reflection would be sure to hold some sort of disappointment for him. Roxas had to look though; he couldn't go to school looking as if he'd just been hit by a car and drowned in bleach.

So he looked. It was worse than he thought, but he didn't expect much more. The left side of his face had dried remains of different fluids from the previous night. It wasn't a pretty concoction thrown on either. The whites of his eyes were red and veiny, as were his eyelids. Under his eyes was bruise looking bags of skin. They were just marks of his exhaustion. Roxas had a bit of stubble, just as any puberty stricken boy would, but nothing that couldn't be taken care of with a quick swipe of the disposable razor on his counter. Roxas didn't like how his cheeks and eye sockets looked sunken, it made him look skeletal. His hair was messy, a different messy than his natural blond spikes, and had some of the contents on the side of his face caked into it.

"Ew," Roxas mumbled, averting his gaze to the sink below the mirror. His bony fingers twisted the fake crystal knob and cold water began spurting out of the faucet. He forced himself to turn it on and dunk his head underneath. There was no time to wait for hot water, so the water that seemed to be imported from Antarctica would have to do. He was used to it by now. If he had time, hot water would be the way to go, but cold water was for when he was rushing. He concluded his visit in the bathroom once his stubble was gone and a light coating of girl's cover up had been applied to his skin. He didn't want to look like a zombie walking around all day.

Roxas wasn't one to be picky about outfits, so he slid on a nice looking pair of rather tight jeans and an oversized t-shirt. His fashion sense wasn't that of a European designer, nor did he dress like someone who should be out on the streets. His shoes were just a pair of Osiris knock offs bought at a cheap price in a rundown shoe shop. They had the most material; Roxas figured they'd last the longest.

The blond slung his draw string back over his shoulders and was quickly hurried out of his room. He felt the pressure of having uncompleted homework in his bag, but with all the stress Roxas felt lately, he could care less. His grades tanked and have been doing so since a few months ago. He had thought that getting good grades could get him out of here quicker, earn him a scholarship, but… everything became too much and it all weighed down on Roxas. He just gave up. Who needs grades when you're going to be dead? That was his way of thinking. He didn't need grades if he was going to be dead before the school year was up.

Roxas padded down the stairs quietly but quickly. He didn't want the stairs to creek too much and wake up his mother. She was surely sleeping after a long day of work; it would be a crime for him to wake her up. She needed to rest. His dad on the other hand was most likely in the kitchen getting ready. Roxas hated the awkward feeling of being in a room with a man he hated so much. His dad would probably order him around to do things, later sending his mother in to beat him.

"Morning." Roxas went ridged when he heard his father's voice. He slowly turned to the man. Cloud, Roxas's father, was hunched over the counter brewing himself a pot of coffee. His hair was strewn about and his eyes were drooping sleepily.

"Yeah," Roxas mumbled coldly. He sent a glare in his father's direction, fearing slightly what the result would be later on in the day.

"Have a nice day at school," Cloud croaked, his posture wavering slightly. His hand was gripping the handle of an empty coffee cup tightly. The coffee cup was white with childlike scribbles spelling "I love you Daddy!" on it. Roxas had made it during an activity in Kindergarten right before Christmas. It had been Cloud's Christmas present.

"Thanks," Roxas said, dryly and accompanied with his hard glare. He didn't want to pass by his father right now. "_The man always does this_," Roxas thought, "_he acts like the perfect man in the morning, but… when I get home… he sends mom in to hurt me. Can't really blame him… the beatings are my fault… but, he could have figured out a more suitable method of punishment._"

Roxas stalked out onto the porch. He took this way in order to avoid his father at all costs. The man had kept such a calm and collected composure all these years, but Roxas felt he could snap at any time. Those who are calm always snap some time or another.

He swung his bag over the railing onto the plush grass just a few feet down. Roxas then made a quick leap over the stained wood and landed next to his bag on the grass. He was slightly peeved with the fact that his bag was damp due to the sprinklers the turned off about an hour ago and the morning dew. His hands were now wet and cold as well. He wasn't a pro at landing quite yet, despite having done this most mornings. It was only a few feet to drop, he surely wasn't going to be breaking bones anytime soon.

The yellow of the school bus was in view. It was stopped at the bus stop where it usually parks in the morning to pick up all the teenagers in his subdivision. He usually sat in one of the two mini seats in the back. The middle schoolers, all annoying as fuck, sat up front while the people who had sense, the high schoolers, sat in the back. There were about twenty people who got on at his stop. He had time to make it.

Silently, Roxas got in the back of the line that was slowly disappearing into the bus. His bus driver was a seemingly deaf old man who didn't enforce any rules. That encouraged the middle schoolers to break more rules than they already would have. They ran up and down the aisles often, jumping from seat to seat. Roxas couldn't stand them.

He made his way down the aisle of the bus. The back seat was his destination. He was angered when a Freshmen decided to take his seat before he got a chance. He would have gladly taken the one opposite of it, but that was occupied by her friend. The blond wouldn't stand for this.

"Get the _fuck_ out of my seat," he growled, stolid. She looked up at him, but made no move to get up. Why wouldn't she listen? Roxas was above her, she had to listen! Roxas repeated himself, this time slamming his first against the back of seat in emphasis. The girl met his glare with an equally intense one, this time grabbing her bag and picking herself up. She moved to the seat in front of her friend, mumbling something about assholes.

The seat was empty now, quickly occupied by Roxas who took place in it. He liked this seat because nobody would sit with him. There would be nobody to disturb him. They wouldn't see his face. The bus was one of the places were Roxas just_ thought_. He could think and cry and nobody would disturb him. It was a quiet place, here in the back of the bus.

For a half an hour Roxas thought about the night before. He reminded himself that even if the attempt failed, future ones wouldn't he could gather up more pills, start his little collection over again and try again. He wouldn't just slit his wrist, which was bound to fail. There wasn't a bath in his house, no place to run warm water. Slitting of the wrists was a poor way to kill one's self. He couldn't jump off a bridge. How would anyone find his suicide note?

Roxas froze. The suicide note was still in his pants in his room. He was really beginning to hope that his mom didn't decide to do his laundry, not that she ever has, but it was still a fear in the back of his mind that she would chose today to start doing the chore. For the last few minutes of the bus ride, that was all Roxas could think about. The suicide note in the back pocket of his jeans that were in the middle of his closet. It would be terrible if his parents found out. Something would change in the house if that happened, something for the worse.

Everyone around Roxas stood up and got off the bus. He looked around, noticing they were already at the school. With a sign, he heaved himself up and scooted out into the aisle. Everyone Roxas went to school with was taller than him, he usually waited for them to beat him to the front of the bus before actually getting off.

Roxas wasted no time crossing the commons straight into the building. He always went to his locker as quickly as possible, dumped his things in there as quickly as possible, went and sat in his first hour as quickly as possible. He always tried to avoid certain faces. He hated seeing his old friends, what better way to avoid them than sitting in his classroom. Sometimes his bus driver was late. He sometimes had to pass by the faces of his old friends. There was always the awkward silence and tension. Roxas hated it. He hated the reminder that there was a pre-existing relationship there that was trying to make itself more known than ever possible every time he saw them. The yearning to say hi to them, to greet them—he couldn't though. They hated him because he was selfish. He hated them because they didn't (_or perhaps did_) care. "_Humans can't care for each other_," he reminded himself. _Then why do you care? You're human_.

The blond bite his lip, flipping his notebook to the newest clean page and began scribbling. He was never sure why his drawings started the way they did, but they usually ended up being gory and angry. He drew the outline of a headless body. He added some bony details, such as the outline of ribs and protruding hip bones and collar bones. Then he decided it should be decapitated, so he added a fleshy filling to the slice where the head cut off. The final touch was a bit of blood. Using the black ink of his pen, Roxas sketched in some streaming lines down the figures body. Perfect. For a doodle, Roxas was quite okay with this one. He knew people thought it was strange to draw dismembered bodies in class, but Roxas liked to. He was good at it. He also managed to finish right before first hour officially started. The page had enough space for notes, so Roxas would add them. He wrote notes down in class to seem like a better student. Note taking made him feel okay, not guilty about his lack of homework.

"Why do you draw dead people?" An obnoxious voice behind him asked. There was a face next to his face. There was stubble tickling his cheek. There was a beanie pressed against his hair.

"Fuck off, asshole," Roxas stated, not really understanding how the teacher hadn't noticed Seifer was leaning forward so far that his chin was practically on Roxas's shoulder.

"Seifer, please sit down fully in your seat." Ah, finally. The teacher took notice of Seifer's odd behavior. She was an old woman, always following the rules strictly in fear of losing the last of the checks that would add to her retirement. Seifer pouted and leaned back in his chair, this time slouching. "Good. Now, onto what we'll be learning today…"

Roxas's thoughts were much louder than her. He was still thinking back to the suicide note that was left in his pants, waiting for someone to find it and reveal his intentions from last night. "_Would anyone care_?" the blond asked himself. "_I don't think anyone would…_" He felt another emotional wave. After last night's mental break down, he was broken inside. There wasn't enough time to recover. This class was too soon. Roxas couldn't focus on the lesson. All he could think about was how he failed. He failed at taking his own life and he wasn't supposed to be alive right now and he shouldn't be here and nobody even wants him here.

"Can I go to the bathroom, please?" Roxas asked suddenly. He didn't care that there were eyes on him. He was about to have another mental meltdown and he would rather have it somewhere privately than in the middle of class. His hands gripped at the edge of his chair, finger nails digging into the textured blue. He didn't care that his right index finger was pressed into an old wad of chewed gum.

"Yeah, Roxas needs to change his tampon," Seifer spoke quietly to the person next to him. There was a small chorus of laughter in the few rows behind Roxas. He snapped.

"Would you _shut up_?!" Roxas snapped, bolting upright and turning to face the other teenager. Seifer immediately quieted down. He was probably embarrassed now that the freak—_the victim_—had actually spoken back to him. Seifer averted his gaze, staring anywhere than Roxas's face. The class was intently focused on Roxas.

"Roxas, please sit back down!" The teacher took cautious steps towards the boy, wanting not to anger him further.

"I'm sick of all your crap! For once can you just leave me alone?! I don't need it today," Roxas cried desperately, almost pleading. Seifer looked to his peers for an answer, realizing they were all expecting him to fight back. He'd been suspended enough times before, another one wouldn't do too much damage to him. Roxas has also been suspended quite a few times, he wasn't the innocent person that people usually saw him to be at first glance. He was a short tempered kid, fighting many of the people at school that he felt distaste for. Seifer had never witnessed his wrath first hand, for Roxas was the type to plan the fights after school. There was the occasional punch at first remark type of fight though, those were the types Roxas was usually suspended longer for. He couldn't help it though—in his mind—there were too many people that made him angry and it just triggered the fight or flight response in Roxas. He always went for fight whenever someone sparked the anger.

A few of the students had pulled out their phones, small red lights flashing here and there to indicate they were recording the incident. Roxas was closer to Seifer now, nearly touching nose to nose with the boy. Seifer had gotten the sense if he didn't fight back, his victim would become the attacker.

So Seifer stood his ground, he reached out a calloused hand—most likely from pick pocketing munny and Struggling—and gripped Roxas's shirt by the collar. The shorter blond snapped and his claws came out from their sheath. He gripped at the hand holding his collar, digging blunt finger nails into the bully's hand. Seifer scowled and used his free hand to grip Roxas by the throat, releasing his collar at the same moment.

"I hate you! Stop tormenting me! What do I do to deserve your snide comments all the time!?" Roxas shrieked, his shrill voice filling the classroom and echoing throughout the hallway. Security was quickly approaching, unknown to both boys. They had less time to murder but all the more time to fight each other.

"You exist, that's what. You're weak, I'm strong. You cannot beat me, that is why I always go for it—you can't win, but I know I can," Seifer snarled, face to face with Roxas. The shorter blond started to throw punches, aiming for the scar on Seifer's face. It was a nasty scar, earned from something Seifer had done when he was younger, but now he used it as a line to fish for much too willing girls.

"That's not true, that's not true, I'm—" Roxas was cut off when a muscled adult in black attire pulled him from Seifer. Seifer was being yanked back by a similar looking person, his beanie falling to the floor. Roxas was blinded by anger.

"_I'm not weak! I'm strong, I can beat him!_" Roxas thought, trying once again to claw at the arm restraining him. He wanted to prove that he could be strong, that he could beat one of his problems down. Everyone beats Roxas, so Roxas wants to beat someone. He's defeated people in the past, but no one nearly as irritating as Seifer. Everything the boy did pissed him off. From the way he smirked when he was ready to put nasty thoughts in Roxas's head, to the way he used his scar as a story book for the girls that he liked, even to the way he could make Roxas feel defeated just with words.

Then the mental break down Roxas had been trying to escape came over him as if a cloak, smothering him in the black fabric that symbolized the brink of insanity. The blond began biting, surprising the people around him as he did so. He needed to get away, to run from everyone. There was a bridge a few miles away, he could pick up his pants on the way there and tuck the suicide note somewhere where it would be found by the right people. He could then throw himself from the bridge, falling freely for a few seconds, and then he could be happy at the bottom of the lake. Perhaps he would even greet the fish on the way down, them congratulating him on finding his relief and they would swim together for a few minutes. Roxas wouldn't call it swimming, more like sinking in a paralyzed state. You don't throw yourself off a bridge to drown, that would be ridiculous.

Blood smothered teeth as Roxas continued getting more desperate to break himself free. Students were screaming in small quantities, some continuing to film with a smirk on their face. Girls and boys who couldn't handle the blood fled the classroom, one even calling 911. It was only a matter of time before the police were there once that call was made.

It was all a blur to the blond from that point on. He couldn't tell whether it was from the tears or his sanity slipping, but he needed to get away. An unheard chant of "Let me be!" left his mouth and filled the room. Seifer was gone before he could comprehend it, and then most of the students were gone. The guard that had been restraining Seifer gripped Roxas's legs, hoisting him up with the help of the guard restraining his arms. He struggled mindlessly, thrashing about, screaming and pleading, but all was lost. Everyone had seen what his life, his thoughts, his regrets, his solutions, his emotions, and his anger had done to him. Nothing would be the same ever again, if there ever was going to be an again. He wasn't sure if he would be coming back to school tomorrow. Would everyone pretend that nothing happened? Would they all laugh and continue tormenting him, hoping to unmask the pain he'd shown them today? No—they'd call him a freak and treat him as though he was a lion with broken legs.

"_He's dangerous, but only when you get too close. Keep your distance, it's safe to taunt him from there, he can't hurt you from where he can't reach._" And then they would probably begin the torture. Relief sounded like a gun to the head.

There were more people in the room now, shouting things at each other. They'd restrained Roxas to a table using straps now, but all he could do was stare blankly at the ceiling. His fight was over, the struggle had died down, and his anger had turned into self-hatred once again. It wasn't anybody else's fault anymore, it was his again.

"Please help me," Roxas whispered, to nobody in particular. He wanted the thoughts to stop, to have a clear head and to never be overwhelmed again. Someone spoke to someone else, but nobody responded to Roxas. They spoke to each other about him, but never spoke directly to him. Roxas took that as the sign that they didn't care either, that he should shut up and stop asking so many things from them. So he quieted down and looked off to the side. They were loading him into an ambulance. He was being taken to a hospital, the place he hated. Roxas wasn't a regular visitor, but he would never voluntarily walk into a hospital either. He hated them because that's where they lock people like him up; they lock the people who are wrong in the head up. They do that because they think it's selfish to leave such a burden with the family, so they keep them in the hospital.

Roxas was scared now. He didn't want to be locked up, he didn't want to be monitored all the time. He liked his privacy, he liked being alone rather than surrounded by people who pretended to care about him. Roxas knew in here they gave you therapists—the biggest liars ever hired for a job. Therapists are also the biggest pretenders. A mental patient's mind is their fairy castle, where they can pretend to wear a crown and run a kingdom. Roxas didn't want a therapist to pretend to care about him, he hated the very thought. He felt more alone surrounded by people who pretended to care than surrounded by nobody at all.

The blonde struggled again, trying to break free. If he could get out and manage to run away, his mom would sort it all out. She would say that he had a bad day and then all these fake people would let him go. The fake people were talking to each other again, looking at Roxas from the corners of their eyes. He was unable to move much, all of his limbs were restrained. "I hate all of you!" Roxas cried, his voice deeper and raspier than it normally was. "Stop wasting time and let me go!"

"Roxas! That's no way to talk to these people, they're trying to help you!" A voice said from next to Roxas. He looked over to the side, meeting the eyes of his mother. She had her coat on, purse slung over her shoulder. His father was behind her, gaze cast downward. Everything indicated that she'd just gotten here and his father had as well.

"Mom! Help me, please! I want to go home," the blond cried, sobbing dryly. She glared at him, looking at him as though a beating was just being organized through their eye contact. His mother strode quickly to the doctor, speaking a few silent words to him and then heading into a separate room. Roxas's father followed her quietly, leaving the small blond to lay, crying to himself.

* * *

Roxas sat in a chair, an ugly brown one at that, looking at the various plants around the room. His hands were folded in his lap, finger nails picking angrily at the skin of his fingers. He was wearing a suit, it didn't really suit him at all. He hated the color brown, yet he was wearing it and was surrounded by it.

Next to Roxas sat his mother and father. His father was quiet as usual, while his mother did all the talking. She was very good at disguising what happened at home with Roxas—all the beatings, the abuse, his father—it was all covered up with him himself. She said he was a bad kid, he got on fights all the time, which his record had shown true, and that he was hard to keep in line while at home.

The social workers believed her. They laid out a few different options before Roxas's parents.

"We can keep him here, in the hospital, where he will be monitored at all times. I don't see him as a serious threat to himself, but others. It's very possible his home life is stressing him and a change of scenery would do him good for a while. You said there was tension between Roxas and his father—that's why I am going to suggest what I think is best. We could put him into foster care for a while, somewhere different. New people would provide a fresh start for Roxas, that's why I think you should consider the option. He'll be able to come back for a short time on the holidays, and you can contact him if permission is granted. It won't be forever, just a short while. If the acting out continues, we will bring him back here and put him in the hospital. So, Mrs. Strife, which option would you like to choose?" the aged social worker asked. Roxas's mother thought for a moment, twirling a strand of brunette hair around her finger. She didn't even glance at his father for any incentive.

"I'll do whatever is best for my son, so long as I get to see him every now and then. I'm sure the separation will only unit Roxas and his father in the end," the brunette woman said. She looked at Roxas coldly, unbeknownst to him. The blond was too busy gripping at his chair angrily. He wanted to do everything possible to make sure his life didn't change. He was the problem, nothing and nobody else was. He had to fix himself. It would be selfish for him to speak out though, so Roxas bit his tongue.

"Very well then. He'll have seventy two hours to pack up, we'll then send a social worker over there to pick him up and then he will be brought the foster family awaiting him."

* * *

So, I tried to nail the social service system. I've had run ins with them before, but never actually getting sent away kind of run ins. I used to date someone who had something similar to this happen to them though, plus I did my research, so, yeah. Sorry if Roxas seems extremely mentally unstable… well, because he is.

HEY MY BIRTHDAY IS SOON. I'M 400% SURE THAT I'M GETTING DREAM DROP DISTANCE. I'm going to be 15. Oh no you say? There is a 14 year old writing fanfiction? _This is terrible_! Actually no, I think most people my age are the spawn of Satan himself and tend to stray away from anything they all do, including writing shitty fanfictions. I like to pride myself on my writng.


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